


Darkly Dreaming Peter

by Star1086



Category: Fringe
Genre: Gen, Raaaagggggeeee, Shapeshifter hunt!, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 21:32:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star1086/pseuds/Star1086
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's been keeping secrets.  Post "Grey Matters" and "Johari Window".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title and rage borrowed by the "Darkly Dreaming Dexter" series. Original prompt was something along the lines of "Peter's angry about the events in Grey Matters and starts hunting shapeshifters." Naturally, I take it to a crazy level. Currently finished, just not all posted.

“Special delivery,” Peter said as he dropped the blue cup in front of the piles of paperwork that towered on top of Olivia’s desk in the lab at Harvard. The cup was fancy; intricate gold detailing on the paper instead of the white Styrofoam and it hadn’t come from their normal place: this was from the café at the far edge of town that was in the wrong direction from Cambridge where Peter and Walter lived. She eyed him suspiciously.

“What did I do to deserve this?” Olivia asked from under her glasses. “And it’s not even my birthday.” She took a sip and tasted caramel and noticed that half of Peter’s cup was already gone.

“That’s why it’s _special,”_ Peter replied as he rubbed a knuckle into his eye. “I couldn’t spend another day drinking that rocket fuel you try to pass off as coffee in this place.” Peter’s throat bobbed as he drained the last of the contents of his coffee and Olivia felt something was off about him. Peter’s normally bright eyes were glassy and tired, the empty cup in his hand larger than the ones he normally preferred.

“Was this your excuse for not picking Walter up this morning? You might owe Astrid more than you do me.” Olivia tried to find anything out of the ordinary on Peter’s face as she spoke. Peter’s eyes flickered for a moment before turning up the side of his mouth into a crooked smile but he didn’t look less exhausted. He produced a carrying tray with another blue cup of coffee that he had hidden behind her files and a plain brown paper bag that he wagged in front of Olivia’s face.

“Bear claws too,” he said just in time for Astrid to stomp into Olivia’s office looking delicately miffed even though it was barely 9am. 

“Astrid,” Peter said in salutation and held out the bag and coffee. Astrid grabbed both with one hand without breaking stride, making sure to glare at Peter before she dropped off the files on Olivia’s desk before she stomped toward the door again.

“This better be non-fat,” she said.

“I appreciate it,” Peter said and Astrid stopped; her smile sickly sweet and darker than such a soft young face should be capable of making.

“Stick me with your father again for an entire morning’s car ride and you’ll owe me more than coffee and a donut--”

“--Bear claw,” Peter corrected, both of his hands now firmly in his pockets and doing his damndest to look genuinely struck. “I asked him to be on his best behavior.”

Astrid heaved a sigh before turning back out of the office looking thoroughly patronized.

“I’m not sharing,” Astrid shouted over her shoulder before closing the door behind her.

“Remind me to buy her some flowers later. Or a small island,” Peter muttered and ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the muscles in his neck, giving Olivia the chance to take a good look at him when he wasn’t paying attention.

She couldn’t quite place it, but _something_ was definitely off. He looked drained, she decided. Olivia knew that the incident with Newton had been difficult for Peter to handle. Not that he’d admit to it, but Olivia could tell that Walter’s abduction and close call with death could make anyone defensive, but Peter wasn’t defensive. In fact, Peter had been uncharacteristically great with his father: patient, understanding and even helpful, talking Walter down and keeping him fed and mostly groomed. It wasn’t like him at all. Olivia suspected that Peter would have gone off the deep end when Walter had nearly died, but he seemed to be adapting pretty well…better than Walter, anyways.

Except…

The last three days Peter had arrived late in the morning and left too early in the evening, looking more disheveled each time. And always armed with perfectly logical excuses.

“ _Just needed to follow up on some work for Walter,” he had said last night before slipping out and leaving Astrid the task with taking Walter home._

“ _What work?” Olivia had asked._

_“Nothing to worry about. Tracking down an out of print movie for Walter. I’ve got a guy,” Peter said, already in his jacket._

_“Of course you do,” Olivia said after rolling her eyes and returning to filling out the incident report of the clean-up inside the house where Newton had kept Walter captive._

Standing before Olivia today he looked worse than he had yesterday, hair just a little too ruffled and the shadow on his jaw a little too prominent. Peter hadn’t been sleeping, that much was clear. He rubbed his eyes again as he slid out of his leather jacket and something else caught Olivia’s eye.

“Late night?” she asked. Peter dropped himself into the closest chair next to her desk and looked confused.

“Your clothes,” Olivia pointed with her chin to the rumpled long-sleeved and flannel shirt she distinctly remembered. “You were wearing them yesterday.” There was no room for argument. They both knew she didn’t forget details.

Peter’s face turned from the epitome of cool collectiveness into a quick flash of something else and back in the time it took Olivia to blink. Peter’s face gave a look of resignation that Olivia didn’t quite believe as he slid forward on the desk, elbows propping up for him to smooth across his jaw.

“You caught me,” he said, looking abashed. “I _was_ out late last night catching up with an old friend.”

“Your out-of-print-movie-guy? Old accomplice?”

“Old girlfriend,” Peter supplied instantly, eyes leveled. Olivia took a mental step backward. Olivia broke eye contact first, shuffling through a few pages on the report on Newton that still wasn’t complete.

“Oh,” was all she could think to say.  

“We were just catching up,” Peter explained and shrugged. “It just got later than I thought. Had a few too many so I slept it off.”

“It must have been a good night then,” Olivia mused over more flipping.

“It wasn’t _anything_ , really,” Peter said as he rose to stretch his back. “Just two friends catching up and reminiscing about past embarrassments. You have anything else on Newton?” He shifted as he got up and strode to pour himself some more rocket fuel.

Olivia barely registered the question, watching Peter pour the coffee, his hands not showing the slightest trace of…anything. But she knew.

He was lying.  

“You don’t look like you’ve been doing a lot of sleeping,” Olivia commented and saw Peter’s back tighten. He took a full swig of coffee as Olivia waited.

“How much sleep do you honestly get working a job like this one?” He said and Olivia found she couldn’t argue. She did, however, give him a quirked eyebrow and he softened.

“Remember how I told you that I couldn’t recall my dreams?”

Olivia nodded. Peter briefly closed his eyes and squeezed them.

“Since the day Walter was abducted, all I can see when I close my eyes is his dead face before he opened his eyes. So, you’re right Olivia, I’m not sleeping.”

The pained look in Peter’s eyes when he opened them let Olivia know at least he wasn’t lying about everything. 

They worked throughout the day, Olivia taking the time to catch up on the endless amounts of paperwork she’d been neglecting while Walter and Astrid worked their way through whatever it was that Walter wanted to work on. And while Walter’s reaction to his abduction and near poisoning had been to fall unceremoniously back into flat refusing to leave the lab, it was Walter and it made sense for him. It was how Olivia knew he was dealing with it. Peter lying to her was something that didn’t make sense.

She watched Peter as often as she could that day, and Peter in turn acted perfectly normal. He helped Walter sort through endless supplies without complaining and came back with lunch for everyone without anyone noticing he had disappeared in the first place. Olivia had started to think she had misread him.

But as the hands of the clock nudged their way further away from five and closer to six, Olivia realized that the pile before her hadn’t diminished like it should have by now. Wearily, she peeled the glasses off her face and pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to focus. Had Peter lied to her over something as silly as meeting with an ex-girlfriend? The fact that he needed to lie to her was unnerving. And not knowing what it was that he was covering was irritating and confusing.

 _Why does it matter?_ She thought to herself. Could anything he’s doing be worse than he’s letting on? He lied about a girl to what? Rattle her? It wasn’t like him. Olivia had nearly forgotten the past life that Peter had led before she dragged him back from Iraq; forgotten that at one time he’d been the bad guy; the conman. But it wasn’t who he was now. At least Olivia thought that he wasn’t.

Olivia could count on one hand the times Peter’s anger slipped and Olivia saw the man he used to be peeled away from the flesh of the man she knew; and each time more than not it had to do with his father. She thought of Peter the first few hours when Walter went missing, the flash of thunder in his eyes, the downward pull of his lips and the hardened posture. It made her uncomfortable because it wasn’t the Peter _she_ knew. She’d stood a few feet away when he had pulled Walter’s abandoned tracking chip out of the bathroom sink at the subway station; the blood staining his fingertips and there wasn’t any doubt: Peter could be dangerous. And he hadn’t bothered to hide it.

Olivia had watched from the sidelines as Peter’s anger frothed and boiled over and she had to restrain herself from stepping back when he nearly kicked the bathroom door of the hinges and caused the whole room to tremble.   

“Thanks Astrid, I owe you one.” Peter’s voice suddenly drifted through the office and it brought Olivia back to reality. Peter looked like himself again, the haunting image of the _other_ Peter’s face gone and replaced with a warm, tired smile. Peter leaned against the doorjamb but didn’t step fully into her office.

“Heading out,” he said and Olivia studied him. He must have noticed because he finally pushed off the frame and made his way fully into the office, not plopping into a chair like he normally did, but keeping distance next to the door.  

“Is that okay?” he asked uncertainly.

“Yeah. Sorry,” Olivia stumbled, trying to shove her files into a fit pile. “Astrid taking Walter home?” The line in Peter’s forehead crinkled as he watched her sort through the mess invading her desk.

“Walter wanted to stay and do some more _experiments,”_ Peter said through air quotes. “Which means he’s trying to get baked without me knowing and Astrid’s good enough to want to stay and make sure he doesn’t OD.” Peter’s tone was light.

“You want to get a drink?” Olivia asked suddenly, trying to match Peter’s fake lightness _._ There was a split second of silence when Peter blinked. “If you don’t have plans,” Olivia added sweetly.

Peter’s eyes flashed before the toothy grin spread on his face like a Cheshire Cat.

“I can’t tonight, got some errands to run for Walter,” he explained, already half-turned out the door. “But rain-check. Promise.” He was out of her office and Olivia was left with the feeling that something was terribly wrong.  


	2. Chapter 2

Olivia sucked down the last of the whiskey that she had been nursing for the last half hour while she stared at her notes from the file on Newton and the shapeshifters. From the whine in the too-tight muscles in her neck that resulted from hunching over the case report, searching for some detail that would crack open the mystery surrounding Newton’s interest in Walter, she knew she should go to bed. There was a lurch of guilt that swept through her stomach, followed closely by anger. She was so close to Newton that she almost sacrificed Walter to get him. The implication scared her. The image of walking back to the house with Newton handcuffed and having to look at Peter’s devastated face as he held his dead father stopped her from pulling the trigger and wiping the smirk off the shapeshifter’s face for good.

“Now I know how weak you are,” he’d said to her.

What was worse, it was the thought of Peter that stopped her, not her conscience. She didn’t want Walter to die for Peter's sake. She didn’t want to be the reason why Walter died. She _was_ weak. She’d thought a million times about what would have happened if she’d just pulled the trigger and then not known how to save Walter. Her fingers curled around the glass and she squeezed. If she ever had the chance again she wouldn’t hesitate. She’d show him how weak she was.

The vibrating of her phone against the coffee table jolted her out of her thoughts and she answered without checking to see who it was.

“Dunham,” she said.

“Olivia, it’s Walter. Dr Walter Bishop. From the lab,” Walter said into the phone, his voice booming from holding the receiver too close to his mouth.

“Yes of course Walter, you’re in the lab?” Olivia said, eyebrows knitting together.

“No, I’m at home. In Cambridge,” Walter clarified loudly and Olivia rolled her eyes, digging her thumb into the corner of her eye.

“What can I do for you?”

There was a crunching noise at the other end of the line and Olivia could only guess that he was also eating. “I was wondering when Peter might be home. Dinner’s getting cold and he turned off his cell phone. I was hoping you might tell him that it’s roast tonight.”

Olivia’s back straightened. “Why would you call me? Didn’t you send Peter out earlier?”

“Peter said that you sent him to check out a crime scene, are you not with him?” Olivia could hear the worry edging through Walter’s words. Olivia’s mouth went dry; her fingers back to clenching the low ball glass.

“Don’t worry about it Walter, we’re just finishing up,” She didn’t have any idea why she lied. She hung up the phone before he could ask anything more, heart beating in her chest.

Where _was_ he?

* * *

There were times when Olivia deeply missed Charlie. Not only could he find her information that no one else could, she could trust him to keep it confidential. His death was still as sore and as raw as the day when she killed the Charlie lookalike as he beat her senseless in the alley. She had been driving for the last 45 minutes, aimlessly coasting through the streets as the rain belted down in hard drops against the windshield, the thrumming making her more on edge the longer she drove. She wasn’t sure who she could turn to.

On a whim, she picked up her phone and dialed.

“Hello?” said the muffled voice on the other end. Olivia scanned the clock on the dashboard; it was nearing one.

“Astrid, it’s Olivia,” Olivia began uncertainly. Astrid’s voice smoothed out as she woke up.

“Olivia, what’s up?”

“I need you to do me a favor,” Olivia said as she turned down the next street. The rain was getting worse. Astrid’s answer was instantaneous.

“Whatever you need.”

It took fifteen minutes for Astrid to suss out Peter’s GPS on his phone, finding the last tower Peter’s phone connected to before he turned it off. Olivia was grateful that Astrid didn’t ask a single question other than what was needed for her to detail an approximate location where Peter could be. The last transmission she had was outside Boston at an old rail yard that Astrid thought was abandoned.

It took her nearly another hour to find the damn place in the rain.

This was crazy. She felt crazy. But she knew something was wrong. This felt wildly out of control for her; she didn’t care what Peter was up to. It was obviously something he wanted to keep private, and she should respect that. But just something just wasn’t right. And she had to know what it was. She felt the same cold wash of something nagging her the same way that John Scott had; the feeling that something was distinctly off but she ignored it the first time; she wouldn’t this time. For all she knew, he was getting himself in the kind of trouble that he couldn’t ask her to help with.

She drove the distance around the rail yard, the lights from her car cutting through the downpour as she tried to see if there was anything that might indicate where Peter was. After a few minutes, she felt ridiculous: it was nearing two in the morning and even if Peter had been here, he was probably long gone. There was even a bigger chance that he had never been here in the first place and she was going out of her mind and stalking her partner over a hunch.

She stopped short when the beams rolled over the faded paint of Walter’s Vista Cruiser and her heart game to a roaring halt.

The rain was cold as it came down hard, soaking through her jeans instantly and dripping down the nape of her neck as she dodged through train cars and old equipment, walking in darkness and trying to figure out why Peter would choose to come here.

It’s deserted. No lights. No people. Her mind danced through the possibilities. She’d doubt he’d bring a girl here, not unless he was planning on killing her, she thought humorlessly. As soon as the thought came to her, she mentally wiped it away feeling ashamed.

After a few moments she caught a sound being carried across a burst of cold wind. It was Peter’s voice. She dropped low and took the final few yards hunched closed to the ground, unclipping her gun and trying to sort out which direction it was being carried from.

From behind a railcar she could finally see Peter’s form, his lean body towering over a section of railroad track, the rain already soaked through his dark clothing, making him look glassy. He was talking, his voice tethered and dangerous but she couldn’t make out words. All she could see was his back, and his unfurled hair glistening with wetness. She inched closer, staying out of sight.

“I’m not asking again,” she heard him say and his voice made her blood run colder than the rain did. “Either you tell me what I want to know, or I take your other hand.” Olivia bit down. Backing against the pile of rusty equipment, she bent and looked lower to glimpse what she couldn’t see before: Peter standing over a man flattened against the railroad track, one arm tucked into his chest as the rain poured down over everything. She leaned a little further and could just make out in a clap of thunder the severed hand and she let out a sound inside her throat that was barely above a whisper compared to the wind. She didn’t recognize the man that Peter was talking to, a heavyset man with a full, brown beard that obscured his mouth.

The man’s voice gurgled and Olivia barely had time to react before Peter lifted something above his head and another clap of light reflected off the blade of the axe swinging down and Olivia could hear the angry snarl when the metal connected with the track below. There was a great wail from the man as Peter pulled the axe back and bent low next to what was left of the man, and Olivia jumped up from hiding and shouted for Peter to stop. The clap of thunder washed out her voice and Peter didn’t turn.  

It was a horror movie; Olivia was paralyzed by fear that this was Peter she was watching. She felt the jolt in her chest like she’d been shot and it drained every rational thought. The rain blurred her vision and she felt dizzy; her breath coming in great white puffs of smoke and she suddenly wished she hadn’t come at all. This was a Peter that she had heard of but rarely seen, the man who was capable of doing things he shouldn’t be capable of doing. Every instinct screamed out for Olivia to intervene; Peter was breaking the law and it was her duty to stop it. But she didn’t move. It couldn’t be true.

“I will find every last one of you until this is over,” Peter’s voice carried even though Olivia couldn’t see his face. “Someone will tell me what I want to know.” She couldn’t hear the man’s reply but it must have been something Peter hadn’t wanted to hear so he raised back up to stand upright over the man. The blade of the axe lifted and swung down once more and Olivia heard no more arguments from the man. She felt every muscle paralyzed as she turned away from the scene. She was abetting a murder. The gun was slick in her hands, the entire rail yard shrouded in a low fog and Olivia thought that maybe the earth was burning below her. She had to get out of there. Through the rain, she ran back to the car without looking back. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark!Peter fans unite!

Olivia didn’t sleep that night. Instead, she spent the next hours between night and morning drinking every last bit of whiskey she had in her apartment. When she ran out of whiskey, she moved to the hard bourbon. It didn’t dampen the images, her eidetic memory made that impossible.  It didn’t even blur it. It just made her drunk.

When daylight broke through the curtains of her living room she rose stiffly and padded her way on unsteady feet toward the shower to try to beat the memories out. Peter had killed a person; that much she knew. But why? Had something happened? Was he in trouble? Whatever the reason, the image of the axe swinging down made her stomach curl and lock. She watched Peter kill that man and didn’t do anything to stop him. She might as well have handed him the axe.  

It was ten minutes to nine before Olivia made it through the doors of Walter’s lab, the lingering headache making her irritable. When she finally cleared the threshold, three heads swiveled at once to follow her. Straightening as much as her head allowed, she stomped through the lab and retreated to the safety of her office, trying not to look at anyone as she went.    

It was fifteen minutes of sitting at her desk and staring darkly at the still towering files before there was a knock on the door. Peter’s face was freshly shaven and bright as he entered.

“Olivia?” he asked as an invitation to let himself in. He stopped short when he got a proper look at her. She knew she looked like shit. The shower washed the smell of alcohol off her, but she knew that her face couldn’t hide that she didn’t sleep.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked. She couldn’t make eye contact, refusing to look at him.

“What?” Olivia shrugged, trying to look busy.

Peter cautiously made his way to her desk, sinking into the same chair he had yesterday. In fact, he looked like the same Peter as yesterday. He dared her to meet his gaze. She reluctantly did, looking at him with as much defiance as she could without being sick.

“You look like you were hit by a bus,” he said, trying to weasel out an explanation. His forehead crossed with worry and she had to uncurl the fist her hand had made.

“More like a train,” she returned. Peter’s eyes flashed with the barest of flickers before returning back to normal. He got up and poured some coffee, setting it in front of her. The smell of burnt coffee beans made her stomach tighten.

“I take it that you went for that drink without me,” he said casually as he sipped from his own cup and Olivia took the mug and let it warm her fingers, not daring to drink.

“Must have,” she said and looked at the dark liquid inside the mug. She could feel the tension in the room as Peter tried to figure out what he was reading from her face. She smiled, her face feeling tight. “Couldn’t sleep. Apparently the whiskey didn’t help.” It wasn’t completely a lie. She swallowed down hard. 

“Obviously,” Peter agreed, still searching her face and not completely at ease. “I would say that we could get that drink tonight, but I’m guessing you might not be up for it.” His smile was disarming, and Olivia could feel him trying to shift the mood. He was good. She felt sick.

Olivia smiled. “Yeah, I suppose I’ll pass tonight.”

“There’s always that Thai place,” Peter shifted and leaned forward and Olivia could smell the musk of his aftershave. “It’d be good to get something in your stomach other than whiskey.”

Olivia took a moment to think it through. Peter reached out to put his warm hand over her cold one. Her skin instantly broke out into goose bumps and she could have chopped her own damned arm off.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to be hungry again,”  she said honestly.

“Olivia,” Peter started and she tried to pick up the smell of something untoward, something to give away what he’d been doing the night before. He smelled like Peter. “I know that I haven’t been the best company since the whole thing with Walter. He’s been far more introverted than normal and I know that it’s not the easiest to deal with sometimes. But he’ll come around and we’ll be back to normal.”

“We’re not normal,” Olivia cut. Peter sneered.

“No, I suppose that’s not the best way to describe us.” 

Olivia opened her mouth but closed it. She almost wanted to say _something_ but was at a loss as to what. Instead, she nodded and smiled; thanked him for the coffee and told him to take as much time as he needed. She was going to play along. Peter physically relaxed and promised that Thai would be on the horizon. Then he left and she finally took in a breath of air.

Astrid came in after Peter, eyes slightly wide and curious, following Peter’s retreating figure with pursed lips.

“Olivia,” she started but Olivia cut her off before she had the chance.

“Astrid,” she said, flexing her hand at the point where Peter’s hand had been. “Thank you for your help last night. And I hate to put you in this situation.”

Astrid’s face was passively neutral.

“But I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you for your help again tonight.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Because you asked."

It wasn’t until late afternoon that Olivia felt the hangover ebb away and she was finally able to fully function again. Peter had left with Walter around six while Astrid and Olivia stayed in the lab. When the lab was clear, Astrid set up a tracker fixed to Peter’s cell phone signal and sent the GPS data directly to Olivia’s phone, explaining in quiet, clipped sentences.

“Is Peter in trouble?” Astrid finally asked, her little heart-shaped face lined with worry. Olivia sighed, pocketing her phone and sliding into her coat.

“Maybe,” she said. “But it’s probably nothing. I just want to make sure he’s not going to put himself in danger.”

Astrid nodded, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of spying on Peter. Olivia could understand.

“Really, I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Astrid’s worry didn’t subside. She slid into her own coat and looked at Olivia.

“And who’s supposed to make sure nothing happens to _you_?” Astrid said as she left for the night.

* * *

It was nearly midnight, and Olivia had been staring at the GPS tracker every few minutes for the last few hours, watching the little green blip on her phone with tired eyes. Astrid had triangulated for Peter’s signal to bounce from whatever cell tower was closest, and to wire the real-time results directly to Olivia’s phone automatically. Since she had started staring at the screen, the blip hadn’t moved from the house in Cambridge.

A part of her wanted desperately for the blip to stay at the house so she could rationalize a logical explanation for the events last night. Peter was protecting Walter. She could understand that. But the tone in his voice had stalled her blood and made it run like ice through her veins. She laid her head down on the corner of the couch and let herself drift off.

She was awakened by the insistent beep coming from her phone. Sitting up with a start, she checked the time and saw it was just after midnight. She rubbed the grit from her eye and looked at her phone. The blip was moving. She got up from the couch and grabbed her coat and a beanie and raced out of the door without really knowing what it was she was going to do.

The blip moved quickly east, away from Cambridge and to an address she didn’t recognize where it stopped for a long time. She pulled over a few blocks out, waiting in the darkness and staring at the blip on the radar. It was a residential address. What was he doing here? Fifteen minutes went by and she finally started the car again, resolved to pull up to the house and knock down the damned door and demand that Peter to tell her what the hell he was doing. As soon as she moved to turn on her headlights the blip moved again and she saw the Vista Cruiser as it rolled down the intersection and Olivia held her breath again.

She couldn’t see inside the car, but the rattle of the engine was something that was hard to miss. Adrenaline shot up through her stomach and she had to keep herself from following him, trying to leave him a wide berth so she could give him enough time to do whatever it was he was going to do.  

“What are you doing, Peter?” she mumbled to herself and debated on whether to call Broyles. She should have called Broyles last night. Should have called in the whole National Guard, but she didn’t know what she was dealing with. Still didn’t. No, she decided. Peter was her responsibility, she’d brought him back from Iraq, and she watched him silently last night. She’d handle this alone. She wasn’t afraid that Peter would hurt her. She was sure of it. She followed the car at a safe distance.

The drive wasn’t long, the blip leading her to the decommissioned naval shipyard off of 5th street. She pulled off to the side of the road, swallowing hard. What did she intend to do? Was she seriously going to arrest Peter? Her partner? She was flushed with hot anger again; John Scott’s face flashing wickedly in her peripheral vision. She had to squash down the ghost’s face and the consequent resentment she felt whenever she thought of him.

The clock on the dash illuminated that the time was pressing past 3am. The entire abandoned base was deserted. She put her car in park and turned her collar up against the windy night and ventured out behind him, the gun heavy on her hip.

 Olivia had never visited the retired Naval Base since she’d moved to Boston. She knew well enough that the Base had long since been inactive, one small outbuilding still open as a museum for young tourists visiting the Boston area. She passed by a placard and caught “ _to interpret the art and history of naval shipbuilding…”_ as well as the hours of operation, which told her that the place would be unmanned in the middle of the night.

The wind whipped her hair around her face, stinging her eyes as she tried to maneuver her way through the long docks of retired ships, staying low and out of sight. She could smell the salt from the Charles River and could feel the spray every time she ventured too close to the side of the wharf. She felt the chill in the air ingrained in every neuron and straightened her spine. Whatever Peter was up to, she was going to get an explanation. She passed each wharf soundlessly, hand hovering over the clasp that held her gun.

It wasn’t long or hard for Olivia to find them, even without the help of the beacon. She stopped short in the middle of the belly of the dockyard; Peter stood at the end of a wharf, collar upturned against the spray and his back to Olivia. She stood, exposed but hidden in the darkness.

It was hard to hear over the angry growl of the wind, but she stood strong and waited for something to happen. She pulled her gun out of the holster and waited. Peter looked more menacing than she’d ever seen him, despite the fact she couldn’t see his face. His back was slightly hunched, shoulders curled and it made him appear far more menacing than usual. Olivia could see the body on the dock at Peter’s feet. She set her jaw and drew her gun. Neither one of the men noticed her approaching.

The man on the ground was middle aged, sandy blonde hair that barely concealed the shiny patch of skin underneath. The figure was frail, and he was looking up at Peter with a mixture of shock and fear.

“None of this will change the outcome,” the man said, voice howling under the force of the wind. Olivia could see the fine marking of bruises on the man’s face, a crooked finger pointed at Peter’s hidden face. Olivia’s steps were silent. “We were instructed not to hurt you, but that won’t extend to the health and wellbeing of your father or your partner,” the man said as he smiled ruefully through bloodied teeth and Olivia stopped.

Peter didn’t react for long seconds, finally reaching into his pocket to withdraw something that Olivia couldn’t see. She held up her gun as Peter landed a kick to the chest of the man at his feet, rolling him onto his back.

“What did they want with my father? Will they come after him again?” Peter’s voice was a hushed snarl. He leaned down as the man tried to right himself. The man with the sandy blonde hair didn’t answer.

“What is Newton planning?” Peter continued as he flicked open the object in his hand to reveal the ugly blunt of a jagged blade. Suddenly, Olivia wasn’t sure what she was doing there, the wind slapping her cheeks and chapping her lips. It wasn’t adding up. She ducked behind some loading equipment, suddenly feeling too exposed.

“We’ll kill them all,” the man snarled back at Peter. “Your father, your friends. That pretty little blonde Newton keeps going on about. How is young Olivia?” Olivia felt her skin crawl. Peter’s left hand swung and the blade dug deeply into the side of the man’s body. Olivia’s reaction was instantaneous, gun drawn and shouting Peter’s name to stop, but her voice stuck in her throat. She stumbled to her knees in her haste and felt the ground bite harshly .

She watched Peter withdraw the knife and saw the arc of silver mercury that sprayed with it. Olivia was forced to stop. The man roared and Peter stood.

“He’s a goddamn shapeshifter.” Olivia said to herself.

“You tell Newton I’ll come after every last one of his men until I get to him.” Peter’s voice was coiled tight. “I’ll save him for last.”

The man laughed, mercury covering his chest. “Why would I do that? Why should I do anything you ask? The plan is set.” Peter shrugged and Olivia knew what he was going to do before the shapeshifter did.

“You’re right.” Peter said and with a twist of his arm slid the knife across the man’s throat, the spray of silver immediate.  Olivia balked and was at a loss at what to do with this new information. They were shapeshifters. Peter was hunting shapeshifters. She was shocked to realize she was no longer frightened; she wasn’t sure what to name the feeling that was caught in her throat now. But it wasn’t fear.

Peter leaned back down over the body, his arm moving swiftly and Olivia finally turned away, her face almost frozen solid. She didn’t want to see what was next. She had to get out of there. Checking over her shoulder one last time, she leaned forward and broke into a full run, never once looking back.


	5. Chapter 5

The realization that Peter was not killing actual people wasn’t less disturbing, but it did adjust the moral grey line Olivia drew in her life. Instead of almost drinking herself to death like she had the night before, Olivia laid on her bed still fully dressed and let the images run through her consciousness with a renewed sense of focus. She wasn’t horrified like she was the night before. In fact, she was slightly relieved that her perception of Peter remained intact; that the frightening man she’d only seen glimpses of emerged only under the cover of night. Under the early rays of morning Olivia prodded her feelings for Peter. He was her partner. She trusted him deeply. Why did this feel like such a betrayal? Because he was doing it? No, that wasn’t exactly correct. She had been hell-bent on revenge after the death of Charlie. She was just too troubled by grief to act on it. It was the fact that he was keeping her in the dark that stung the most.

What did that mean? She thought absently to herself, unable to even attempt to try and sleep.

She felt exhausted; drained and running below empty. The chirping birds ringing through her bedroom window alerted her that daybreak was quickly approaching and soon she’d have to face going to work and seeing Peter again. And she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with the information yet. Time was running out.

The knock on the door startled her into sitting up. She didn’t even check the time.

Through the peephole she saw Peter’s face and she bit down on her lip hard. Hesitating for only a moment, she unlatched the lock and opened the door.

“Peter,” she said, throat raw. She was too tired to feign anything other than the sheer exhaustion she felt.

Peter didn’t say anything, his face shadowed, eyes alert.

“Can I come in?” he asked and Olivia nodded once, stepping aside to let him into her apartment. She vaguely thought of where her weapon was, remembering she had left it on her nightstand. _He won’t hurt me,_ she continued to think, even though she wasn’t fully convinced.

“What’s up?” she said as she circled the couch, showing him to the chair. Peter didn’t move, hands deep in the pockets of his coat.

“You still kinda look like crap,” he commented. Olivia’s smile was strained.

“Thanks,” Olivia said. “You came all the way here to tell me that?” she was beyond tired, bones aching.

“No,” Peter admitted. He took his hands out of his pockets and Olivia physically flinched. If Peter noticed, he didn’t say.

“I’m worried about you,” Peter’s voice was calm. His hands were clean. “And I think I know what’s been bothering you.”

Olivia waited patiently for him to continue.

“I talked to Broyles. About Newton. What he said to you when you chose to save Walter’s life.” Olivia paused from staring at the floor to look at Peter.

“What?”

“You aren’t weak, Olivia.” Peter grabbed her hand in his again, and Olivia had to concentrate on looking at Peter’s face.

“You saved my father’s life. You gave up Newton to do that. That doesn’t make you weak.” Peter looked freshly showered, but she couldn’t smell his aftershave anymore. “And I want you to know that I can’t even express my gratitude for that decision.”

Olivia couldn’t respond with anything. This version of Peter sitting earnestly before her, it made her far more uncomfortable. He didn’t look like a monster.

“You’re welcome.” She said and Peter smiled. Peter looked satisfied.

“You want a ride in to work? I was going to try to get Walter out of the lab and into a grocery store but any excuse to get out of it would be welcomed,” Peter said as he rose off the chair. Olivia watched him stand, long and lean and without the harsh contours she saw earlier. Peter finally took note that she was fully dressed and his brow crinkled.

“Don’t tell me those were from yesterday.” He said.

Olivia didn’t answer, smoothing a palm over the wrinkled fabric.

“You sleep at all?” Peter asked and there was a new edge in his tone.

Olivia shrugged. “Some,” she lied. “I need to take a shower. Take Walter to the grocery store.” Peter nodded but continued to look suspicious.

“I’ll see you later then?”

“Sure.” Olivia showed him the door.

“And Olivia? Thank you.”  

Olivia smiled again and nodded, closing the door behind him and feeling the exhaustion weigh on her like lead. Her phone rang. It was Broyles.

_No time to sleep now_ she thought as she answered the phone and waited to hear in what way her life was about to get even worse.


	6. Chapter 6

“Fascinating,” Walter mused as he shuffled through x-rays from the patients who had incubated the pieces of his brain missing brain.

“I don’t know if that’s the word I would use to describe it,” Peter countered and swiped the films out of Walter’s hand to replace them with a sausage sandwich from the deli at Harvard. Peter gathered the rest of the films together while Walter was distracted. “And we have the new case in Edina we’re leaving for. Thrills. Adventure. Sunlight.”

“But son, maybe there are others out there, others that may still have pieces of my brain…” Walter shuffled behind Peter, the paper that the sandwich was in starting to darken as the sauce stained it red.

“There are no other pieces, Walter,” Peter said coolly, placing a hand on his father’s shoulder to divert his attention. “Newton retrieved them all. You know that.”

Olivia watched their interaction with her arms folded across her chest, feeling the pinch of the headache that hadn’t fully gone away. The time had past when she could forgo a few night’s sleep without paying for it in the morning. Another pain in the ass reminder that she was getting old.

“But what _if_   there were more? Others that haven’t been tainted or destroyed by that…that _man._ ” Walter ground out angrily and Olivia could see Peter’s face darken a little with the mention of Newton, even if Walter refused to say his name.

“Walter, I swear to you, there are no other missing pieces. You’re intact.” Peter rested both hands on either side of his father’s frame, bending slightly at the knees and Olivia wondered how Peter could manage to appear so different in the daylight.

“But I’m not,” Walter refuted. “And I won’t ever be.”

Peter looked concerned as Walter pulled away from his clasp to eat lunch in his office alone, slamming the door behind him. Peter stayed behind, rooted to where he was with his head hung in defeat.

“This must be what having children is like,” he muttered and Olivia cracked a smile. “God help me if I ever have to deal with a surly teenager. I’ll make sure he’s as sane as possible for Edina.”

 He turned to face Olivia and dropped a sandwich off in front of her.

“How long do you think you’re going to last without dropping dead?” he asked, pulling up a stool at the same lab table she was at and opening up his own sandwich. Olivia wasn’t remotely hungry, staring at the paper and trying not to think about eating it.   

“I haven’t died yet,” Olivia answered and continued through the file on the boy with the mutated face in Edina, the three dead officers, and what the connection between them was. She also needed to get in touch with a Sheriff Velchik before they headed out.

“What?” she said when she realized Peter was staring.  

“Something’s going on with you,” Peter said, leaving his own sandwich untouched. “I bring you salami with ham on rye and you haven’t even touched it. I figured that would be my best chance of you eating _something_ because I’ve seen you suck those down like they’re going out of style and I’m confident you haven’t eaten anything in the last few days.” Peter folded his hands together smugly and Olivia bit her tongue.

“If there’s something you want to talk about, or if there’s something I can do…or something I did,” Peter said and Olivia had to stop the urge to slap her hand over his mouth.

“It’s not you; it’s not anything,” Olivia said as she continued through her file, hunching down in her seat.

“Is it about what I said about the girl?” Peter asked and Olivia almost laughed. “The ex-girlfriend?” Peter clarified. Olivia’s face felt hot. She hadn’t even paid a thought to the lie that Peter had told her.

“It was nothing. It _is_ nothing,” he said in a way that she assumed was supposed to be comforting. Olivia couldn’t change the shocked expression lingering on her face if she’d smacked it off. It was so absurd. It was fucking absurd and so aggravating that she let out a strangled laugh.

“You think that’s what’s bothering me? Some old girlfriend? You what? Think I’m jealous?”

Peter’s face screwed up when she said it out loud. He dropped his head slightly looking sheepish.

“No, I suppose not.”

“I’m not.” Olivia stated firmly.

“I didn’t mean…” Peter tried to backtrack but Olivia could feel the anger bubbling up. He was lying to her again and trying to make her out to be what? Some jealous girlfriend?

“I know what you meant, and I’m assuring you that whatever you think might be wrong with me, it doesn’t have anything to do with whether or not you’ve met with some old girlfriend.” Olivia grabbed the sandwich and slid off the stool, feeling every inch of her skin crawling.

“Make sure you both are ready to leave in an hour,” she muttered as she stomped to her office, leaving a baffled-looking Peter behind as she readied herself for the task of dealing with the weird shit happening in Edina, New York.


	7. Chapter 7

Several exhausting days later Olivia toyed with the idea of calling in sick. Edina turned out to be weirder than even she thought possible. Alternate perceptions, mutated people who were experimented on and were willing to kill to keep their secret safe. She oddly related. She had returned to Boston more confused than when she’d left. She lay back on her unmade bed, and replayed the events of Edina over in her head: Peter had saved their lives. She was unconscious, face-deep in the airbag on the drivers’ side of the car that was now completely totaled, her wary reflexes too slow when the pickup ran them off the road. He had wrestled her gun out of her holster and fired into the blackness to save them from Teddy’s father, who had wanted desperately to keep the truth of Edina secret. He would have killed them all if Peter hadn’t stopped him.   

Her trust in Peter remained solid but she was acutely wary of him; but in the moments after she regained consciousness, disoriented from the crash and saw in the haze the same angry crouch of Peter’s shoulders, looking just this side of dangerous, she panicked as she pulled herself awake and realized her gun was missing and that Peter now held it, pointing it in her direction. But the panic was replaced with confusion when she realized it wasn’t her he was firing at. She felt ashamed. Instead, he had killed a man who looked deceptively normal; not like the monster they thought they were hunting. It shook her to see the body, but she didn’t think it would bother Peter.

None of those things haunted her as much as the look on Peter’s face as he stood alone on the road, staring off into the distance after he realized that the thing he killed wasn’t a monster at all. It was so unlike how she thought he would react. She’d seen him ruthlessly slaughter two shapeshifters without breaking a sweat. But it was Peter’s startled face that shocked her; his skin wiped of all color as she comforted him, unsure if it was all an act or not.

She watched his face intently as she relayed the story of the first time she’d killed someone, looking for a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He didn’t react, listening intently but continuing to stare off into the distance.

“I didn’t sleep that night. Or the next,” she admitted and wondered how Peter slept after the shapeshifters. She finished and waited. She wasn’t sure for what exactly. To admit what he’d been doing? Would she admit she knew? But there wasn’t anything else said, so she just stood next to him and looked at the same emptiness.

Those thoughts lingered with her throughout the case. Threw off her momentum and they had nearly paid for it later. She’d hesitated. The shotgun held by the mutated Sheriff was pointed at her and Peter, and she knew if she’d just squeezed the trigger, she’d have a pretty damn good shot at getting him before he got her. But the shotgun had shifted to Peter and she’d hesitated, just for a moment, and then it was too late. She was weak. She was weak in front of Peter and all she’d had to do was pull the goddamned trigger.  

She rolled over and turned onto her side, her hair sticking to her neck. She didn’t want to think about Edina anymore. She didn’t want to think about Peter or Newton or shapeshifters or her life. She just didn’t want to think.

She decided to ignore the tracker and let Peter do whatever he was going to do. She distracted herself by digging out her sneakers, tucking her hair inside a wool hat, and taking off for a run. She debated whether or not to bring her gun, but the instinct to have it on her was too strong and she tucked the weapon inside her jacket because having it made her feel just a little bit more in control. And control was something that was lacking in her life lately.

She ran against the cool, misty air and could taste the rain on the darkening horizon and she wondered if the weather was an omen over the last few days. Heart pounding, she ran through one neighborhood after another, hoping that the longer and harder she ran, the more the images of Peter would muddle. It had been longer than she liked since the last time she’d had a chance to run, feeling her blood pump in her veins and her knees ache from the strain and it took longer than normal for her to feel the rhythm. She ran without music, always on high alert for predators that lurked in the darkness for unsuspecting women who were caught not paying attention, and she wasn’t one of those women. She’d never be one of those women. She let the landscape melt away, forgetting about shapeshifters, about Newton and for a little while at least, Peter Bishop.

Miles passed before she felt the light touch of chill on her cheeks, the air cooling as the rain changed from a sprinkling to a downpour and it soaked her to the bone. When Olivia stopped her lungs burned, her hands firm on her knees as she tried to breathe through the fire. She looked around to figure out where she ended up, she realized she had run much farther than she thought, most of the bustling people having already retreated into their brownstones for the night.

She pulled out her phone and the display let her know it was well beyond midnight.

“Great,” she muttered, about to pocket it again when the display suddenly lit up and the homing signal beeping to alert her that it was active. She didn’t press the alarm at first, not realizing she hadn’t turned it off. She checked it without much thought.

Peter’s little red pin was blinking brightly, already at an address she didn’t recognize and she stood staring at the little icon like it might spill what he was doing. The thought stung, that Peter was lying to her even though her trust in him was firm. Even now. He was out there doing unspeakable things—shapeshifters or not—and she knew about it and she was standing aside and letting him lie to her. What would she have done if she’d known what John was involved in? She let him lie to her as well and John died with those secrets.

She wasn’t interested in being lied to anymore. She tucked the phone back inside her pocket, and with the little blaring icon still chirping she ran to hail one of the cabs she knew would be idling outside the line of bars the next block over.

The address sent her across town, into a newly renovated part of Boston where new buildings were littered among run down neighborhoods. Her driver asked in a concerned tone if this really was where she wanted to go.

“Pull off here,” Olivia said, trying to keep tabs on her phone tracker. They were a few blocks back from the location where Peter’s GPS blip was located The driver pulled over next to the sidewalk, and tried to look out into the rain.

“You want me to wait?” he asked.

Olivia tossed him $60 bucks cash and told him not to worry about it as she stepped out into the night, the ride barely warming her up enough to combat the chill of the rain. The buildings were all either brand-new or under renovation; and Olivia could guess which one Peter would be in without having to consult her phone. One partially constructed building sat in between two finished office complexes, chain-linked fences covering the construction that was still going on.

He’d be there, she thought.

Sure enough, she found the slit in the chain-link, barely discernible by the naked eye but she knew Peter’s handiwork. She slithered through and made her way into the hollowed out bones of the building. She didn’t exactly have a plan, thinking that she’d pull out her gun and order Peter to stop whatever he was doing, to demand an explanation for the lies and the deceit, but the idea made her stomach lurch thinking about it.

“Damn it Peter,” she muttered as she cleared the first floor of the empty building. It smelled like wet concrete and sawdust, and she’d already checked the first three floors of the still under construction high rise before doubt started to creep in, and she really started to consider what she would do if he was here and whether or not she really wanted to find him. Her service weapon was snug against her chest as she crept up the stairs to the fourth floor. She thought of Newton, his sneering face looking down at her, cajoling her and her hands became fists. She wished she could do what Peter was doing: getting answers. But he was doing it in darkness, without her. She made it to the door, sweat on her brow when she heard the crash, hand hovering over the handle. When she heard the yelp that accompanied it, she flung open the door, gun pointed and determined to put a stop to Peter’s deception once and for all.

When she made it through the door, she was met with a scene that she wasn’t expecting.

The floor was deserted like the others, the walls still in varying stages of sheetrock and drywall, equipment laying neatly across the unfinished floor. Olivia could clearly see without the aid of light two men struggling viciously, one man over the other and swinging a kick but Olivia couldn’t discern faces through the shadows.  Olivia kicked aside the door and followed her gun into the room, sneakers bright against the darkness as she yelled out.

“Hey!” she uttered and the struggling stopped. Olivia squinted. A man she didn’t recognize turned and stared back and she was stunned into freezing. It wasn’t Peter.

Peter then emerged from the shadows, teeth bared as he grabbed the man by the collar and swung him back down, and Olivia wasn’t sure if Peter had seen her or not. She continued farther in, watching Peter swing a fist down but from the looks of the quick upswing to his jaw, this wasn’t going as smoothly as the others. Peter’s head snapped back and Olivia saw the glint of the blade in the wrong set of hands.

“Peter,” Olivia called and Peter’s face exploded wide when he saw her, and Olivia’s stomach dropped just as Peter’s mouth opened. The man Peter was crouched over rose, the blade outstretched and Olivia squeezed off a round and watched the discharge brighten the darkness like a firecracker.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all folks! Here's the ending. Thanks everyone for reading. Full thanks to my life coach for keeping in line.

The sound erupted and bounced back at her, popping her ears but she stayed firm. Peter covered his head from the blast as he dove backward. The commotion ended quickly.

Silence ticked by before Olivia saw Peter roll to his knees, staring at the shapeshifter that was slowly bleeding mercury onto the cement from the puckered wound in his chest. His eyes shifted to Olivia’s face and then to the gun that was still focused on him and he breathed in sharply. She was confident he couldn’t see her face clearly in the darkness or he’d surely see the shock she couldn’t hide.

“Olivia,” he started, raising his hands to show her they were empty.

“Don’t,” Olivia said but Peter continued slowly, hands still open, his gait easy. The mercury was splattered bright against his black sweatshirt. The crack of thunder erupted above the building, and they both jumped. Her hands shook. She suddenly felt exhausted and her knees thrummed in pain.

“Stop,” she repeated and out of the corner of her eye she saw something move. Peter didn’t, more drawn to Olivia. She thought she saw Newton’s pointed face rise out of the darkness and there wasn’t a hesitation when she pulled the trigger once. And then again. Peter recoiled, but didn’t move. He looked over his shoulder to the blonde shapeshifter that wasn’t Newton with two wounds to his face, one below his right eye, the other straight in the forehead. Olivia let out a hiss when Peter blinked, his jaw tight.  

 Peter approached her, cautiously reminding her “It’s me, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” like he needed to say it more than she needed to hear it. He reached out gently for her gun. She was surprised when she let him. She felt drained and empty and broken. She realized how the cold bit at her skin and that she was shaking. She knew it was dangerous to hand her only weapon over, but he didn’t try to take it. He just nudged it down gently away form his chest, wrist twisting gracefully as he maneuvered it away. He was close enough that she could smell the damp earth radiating off him and she loosened her grip. He wrapped his long fingers around the barrel and made sure she saw him slide it back into her holster. His hands were warm and she realized just how cold she was when his knuckles slid across her ribs.

Peter’s hands lingered a bit too long before they disappeared into his pocket to pull out the keys to Walter’s car, the little white lucky rabbit’s foot hanging ludicrously at the end, and palmed them into Olivia’s hand.

“Two blocks south. It’s behind the convenience store off the street,” Olivia met Peter’s eyes and they were soft; tired. More tired than she’d noticed before. More tired than she felt.

“Meet me there.” It sounded like a question, like he wasn’t sure if she’d take it and run.   

She nodded and swallowed hard, turning her back to walk unsteadily back to the stairwell. She didn’t want to know what he was going to do—she was sure he was going to dispose of evidence and she was both thankful and horrified that she wasn’t going to witness it. The sky had fully opened up and rain belted down without remorse, and she was shaking so hard by the time she made it to the Vista Cruiser, exactly where Peter had said it would be, that she could barely put the key into the lock. It was parked in the back lot, hidden from the streetlights and blending into the darkness.

She slid into the passenger side and just sat, letting herself shiver as she played back the events. She shot the man, shapeshifter or not, without a moment’s hesitation. She hesitated when she killed Charlie. _It wasn’t Charlie._ It wasn’t Newton either, it was just a shapeshifter and it was dead. There was no thought process, no reason. She reacted emotionally, _again_ , even after she knew who Peter was; what he was doing and none of it mattered. He would have died and she couldn’t let it happen. She didn’t feel like a killer. She didn’t feel anything. She was glad she did it. Wished Newton was there to see it, _wished it was Newton._

Everything was blurry outside the windows; the rain washed everything away in hazy lines. She sat for a long while, freezing and shivering bordering on violent before Peter met her at the car, climbing cautiously into the driver’s seat, his clothing also completely soaked through; his sweatshirt black again. He looked at her, the line in his forehead black as he tilted her jaw toward him. She was too tired not to let him look at her. He pulled the keys away from her to dig them into the ignition and Olivia felt the heat finally flutter into the car. They drove in silence, the rain the only sound flickering between them.  

He rolled to a stop at her apartment. She looked ahead. There was a heaviness in the air, thick and full of all the things she knew they should talk about. She was surprised when he got out of the car into the rain. He pulled her by the elbow and she let him lead as they walked in silence to her apartment. She was too groggy and cold to think about anything. It was nearly 3am. When they made it to the door he held his hand out for her keys and she gave them to him, holding the door open for her and following her inside. She only realized he didn’t leave when she heard the door click and lock shut.

Peter’s eyes were heavy bags, and Olivia thought maybe he hadn’t been sleeping after all. If she was tired before, she was barely functional now and she watched Peter move uncertainly around her apartment but cared little about what he was doing. After he switched off the light in the kitchen he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her toward the bedroom, and Olivia hesitated.

“Trust me,” he murmured and she decided that she did. She padded behind him into her bedroom and felt strangely…okay that he was in her bedroom. She’d never really thought about it until then. Peter pulled off her stocking cap and unzipped her sweatshirt with gentle hands despite his hard face. He thumbed off the holster to her gun to lay it gently on the nightstand, making sure she saw where it was. Because it was important. He hesitated in front of her again, like he was making a decision.

“You’re freezing,” he said by way of explanation and reached out to pull gently at the tank top she was wearing, sliding it up and away and while he stared hard at her forehead. His eyes were dark pools and Olivia lifted her arms to let him slide it off and throw it into the sopping wet pile on the floor. Olivia didn’t feel exposed, not in front of Peter at least. He’d seen her stripped to her underwear more times than she should have been comfortable with. She should’ve be on edge, screaming at him to get out of her apartment but she didn’t do that either. She just waited to see what he would do next.

He pulled off his own sweatshirt and Olivia could see the silver matted to his shirt, _he must have turned it inside out_ she thought as she watched him strip down to his undershirt that was spared from the splatter pretty well. He found her dresser, fumbled through the drawers until he found an old grey t-shirt. The moonlight caught him and she saw the way his hair stuck up at the ends, curling slightly. She saw the fine line of his shoulder blades, the muscle cradled under skin.

He held it out to her and she slid it on and she felt slightly warmer but more exhausted.  He hesitated at the waistband of her sweatpants, suddenly looking unsure. She shrugged and he pulled down the material and let her step out of them to toss them aside. They both stood there, Olivia feeling better stripped of the wet clothing but now everything was suddenly very real. She swallowed hard and reached out without really thinking and caught Peter’s belt buckle before his hand snapped down on her wrist, brow furrowed.

“Olivia,” he said, voice thick.

“You didn’t trust me,” Olivia said in the darkness. She didn’t want it to sound harsh. Peter stared hard at her but she didn’t shrink back, hand still firm on his belt; his hand still firm on hers.

“It’s because I do trust you,” Peter returned and squeezed his hand like he was trying to crush his conviction into her skin. “I don’t want you to see me like that. Like _this.”_

“I don’t care,” she said.

He stared at her suspiciously and finally nodded, letting go of her hand to let her work at his belt. His eyes closed and he tilted his jaw back when she slid the leather out of the loops of his denim. Her hands were oddly settled despite the exhaustion, working at his jeans until she slid them off his hips.

She stood back to let him kick them off and she was so drained she was nearly cross-eyed when she stumbled into the bed she hadn’t slept in for days, the cool sheets comforting against her worn body. She buried herself under the covers and felt the mattress shift when Peter followed her a moment later as the bed warmed pleasantly with his heat.

“I mean it,” she warned, as her eyes drooped. He faced her, his eyes back to the soft blue color she remembered.

“I know,” he replied, smoothing the wet hair off her face. His hand was hot and it settled her and she closed her eyes.

“Do you still see it, see him?” she mumbled against his skin.

“See who?” His voice was rough like he was barely awake himself.

“Walter,” she yawned. “Is he still what you see when you close your eyes?” She felt drunk but she could tell he was smiling even if her eyes were closed. He pushed more hair behind the curve of her ear.

“No. Not tonight.”

It was the last thing she heard before she finally slipped into sleep.      


End file.
